


Three times Lakshman was wrong, and three times he was right

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Ramayana fics [14]
Category: Ramayana - Valmiki
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Oneshot, three times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: Lakshman always was the warrior, the quickest to anger, the defender out of the Raghu boys. Half the time, it was all bluster, but the other half, he had a cause. Oneshot.





	Three times Lakshman was wrong, and three times he was right

What if Mandavi and Bharat, or Shrutakirti and Shatrughan don’t get along?

The alliance between Mithila and Ayodhya is born out of convenience -- four sisters to marry four brothers. Politics is all and well, but if the daughters of Janak should know bliss while Kushadhwaja’s are left to look on in miserable stagnation? His own mother has languished -- neither the Crown Prince’s mother nor the King’s favorite wife, the forgotten queen. Will they become resentful, twisted by bitterness? At least Queen Sumitra possesses a quiet dignity to sustain her, but what of Mandavi and Shrutakirti?

He knows so little of women -- life in the _gurukulam_ and on the road fighting demons taught him many things, but not the inner workings of the mind of the other sex. And while he knows little of women, and even less of his future sister-in-laws, he knows -- _knows_ \-- that Bharat and Shatrughan will have to struggle harder than he and Bhaiyya to find happiness with their summarily chosen brides.

* * *

“And I finally understood what Mother was telling us, that _no_ _,_ twins aren’t born five months apart. So not only were we not twins, we weren’t even sisters of the flesh!”

Urmila is glad to be married to a twin, both out of the old childish fascination Lakshman can still in her eyes, along with a more adult awareness. “What is it really like to be a twin?” she asks with such earnest curiosity that Lakshman must truly consider.

He is Rama’s champion and shadow, but Shatrughan is his reflection. The ony other person in the world who shares his mother, and who understands his every thought and does not judge him. Rama knows Lakshman well, of course, sometimes even when Lakshman is not aware of himself, but he has always been the eldest brother, their peer-guru and their better. Whereas Shatrughan simply assesses and nods.

“Shatrughan is perhaps the one person I’ve never doubted,” he says. “Bharat,” and here his mouth twists, the old mistrust rearing itself even in the heady days of newlywed life, “has entirely too much of Kaikeyi Ma’s ambition in him. But Shatru, even though he’s closest to him, still manages to retain -- _himself_ _._ And I always know what he’s thinking, just as he knows mine.”

Urmila nods in satisfaction.

* * *

“Bharat is marching an army upon us!”

Bhabi combs her fingers through the prayer petals she gathered that morning, ensuring they are fresh.

“Perhaps he means not just to finish off his rival brothers, but his own sister-in-law as well so that no heir may ever threaten him!”

Rama flicks a shower of petals onto Sita when her back is turned, necessitating her to turn back around and swat his head.

“The Ganga will run with the blood of brothers today! It is up to me to decide whose blood it shall be!”

Rama dodges her hand, but in doing so, she sends the petal basket flying, dousing Lakshman in blossoms. Rama and Sita burst into undignified peals of laughter as he spits out _chameli_ and seethes.

* * *

“Bhaiyya is fine.”

“Why so sure now? Always the vigilant one, always the paranoid one, and yet when my lord is truly in danger, you do nothing.”

Sita cannot sit still, instead pacing back and forth frantically, even as the pot she is attending to threatens to boil over. Lakshman discreetly moves forward to bring it back to a simmer.

“Do you know that those who lie the most are those who accuse others of lying the most? Anyone who so much as breathes in Rama’s direction wrong, you have always jumped to your bow, yet now you do nothing. Perhaps it has all been a ruse, and you covered your deceit with dog-like devotion! Who better than you to recognize deceit?”

Lakshman closes his eyes. “I am vigilant,” he says evenly, “because the world asks it of me. And while I may not have faith in anyone else, I have perfect faith that my brother is safe where he is.”

Sita lets out a screech of frustration, so loud that the birds are sent flying.

* * *

Shatrughan’s face is pale, as the crowds sway and murmur and shift.

“She won’t agree to a second Agni Pariksha.”

“Bhaiyya won’t ask it of her.”

“The people ask it, and Bhaiyya has made it clear where his priorities lie.”

Lakshman closes his eyes, remembering a golden deer, a brother’s supposed death-cry, a sister-in-law’s fearful accusations, and an impromptu, guilt-induced patrol.

“It is not your fault it has come to this,” Shatrughan murmurs. “No one sane blames you for leaving, and Sita certainly does not.”

His twin has never faltered in his acute instincts. That much at least has proved to be true over the years.

The boys -- Luv and Kush -- cling to each other with a desperation Lakshman recognizes right away, for all that he met them only yesterday. How could anyone doubt their Raghu heritage, from the mercilessness of their arrows to how the surest way to provoke them is to threaten the other?

“Bhabi is the one who shaped them and sculpted them into the kshatriyas who defeated us yesterday,” Lakshman says. “She loves them -- painfully and desperately, all the more so because they were all she had. She won’t let anyone say a bad word of them. She’ll do it again, so that no one ever doubts their lineage.”

“Janaki has her pride,” Shatrughan warns. “For all that she willingly spent twenty-six years in the forest.”

“She’ll agree to the second test -- out of spite if nothing else.” Lakshman is frantic, sweat staining the silk of his robes. “She’ll do it, and prove their paternity beyond a doubt, and they’ll be made the Crown Princes and she’ll come back to Ayodhya as our queen where she belongs.”

“Brother,” Shatrughan says sadly. “Brother.”

* * *

“You’re still angry, my son,” Queen Sumitra murmurs.

Lakshman has always been angry, right from the moment he was born and he refused to be separated from Rama. Everyone has commented on it, from his mother to his gurus to Queen Tara of Kishkindha.

“I still am,” Lakshman says shortly.

Angad -- that _vanara_ _,_ son of a tyrant and crown prince only out of pity -- is perhaps the only person other that Shatru to see that anger and not recoil, but instead share it and feed it. Angad knows something about anger roiling vast and wide, more wild than the seas surrounding Lanka, and it is why Lakshman bestowed his name on one of his sons.

“It’s as much part of you as a tiger’s stripes. But do you intend to pass it on to the boys?”

 _The boys:_  Luv and Kush, by unspoken convention, even though eight boys now fill the palace.

“Even without my malignant influence leading them astray, I’m sure they’d have plenty enough anger on their own.” Why do mothers always seem to believe that they alone shape their children, that through sheer force of will, they can keep their souls as pure and sweet as ladoo dipped in ghee? At least Bhabi had been more pragmatic.

“Anger is what will turn the tides of this accursed dynasty around. Yes, Mother, accursed.” One generation may simply be a fluke, two is solid proof. Three is utterly inexcusable. “Bhaiyya was never angry, always dharmic, and look where it got him. Let anger be the new fire that we use to refine our kings, burnishing away all imperfections, and leaving them behind as sharp and fortified as a newly forged sword.”

“Since when are you a poet?” Sumitra chuckles. Lakshman does not answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Credits to Avani for the headcanon about Sita and Urmila being born five months apart!


End file.
